The deep-range patrol returned on the twenty-second of Scorchend — four days overdue, three mbers missing, and carrying intelligence that converted the northern hypothetical into a confird operational threat.
Patrol Leader Raegal — the grizzled wolf-beastman whose forty years of frontier service had given him the uncanny threat-reading ability of a predator who survived by understanding what was trying to kill him — delivered the debrief to Marquess Gharrek Fenward in the war room of Fangwall Fortress while the patrol’s survivors were being treated for injuries that the Frostmarch’s healer priests described as "consistent with sustained divine-domain exposure."
The injuries were unusual. Two patrol mbers had frost-burns — not the surface damage of natural cold but deep tissue crystallization, as though the cold had penetrated through the skin and frozen the muscle beneath without freezing the surface tissue first. One patrol mber — a Ministry field agent nad Corvin — had patches of grey discoloration on his forearms and neck. The grey wasn’t bruising. It was *decay* — accelerated cellular deterioration that had aged the affected tissue by approximately thirty years in the span of forty-eight hours.
"We crossed the boundary on schedule," Raegal reported. "The first twelve days were standard frontier — unmapped wilderness, predator encounters, navigation by terrain reading. No abnormal divine activity. No divine resistance. At the boundary’s edge — approximately sixty kiloters north of the mapped territory — we entered a zone where the priests started losing their blessings."
"Describe the interference."
"Howlist blessing degraded first. Pack coordination — the divine enhancent that links wolf-beastn in shared tactical awareness during combat — dropped from full strength to approximately twenty percent over a distance of two kiloters. At twenty percent, the pack-sense was noise — garbled, unreliable, more distracting than useful. I ordered the priests to shut it down entirely. We continued without divine enhancent."
"Then the cold changed. Not intensity — *quality*. Natural cold is environntal — the air temperature drops, the body responds, functional clothing maintains core temperature. This cold was... internal. It started inside the body and radiated outward. The warst clothing didn’t help because the cold wasn’t coming from outside."
"And then we found the source."
***
"Morglith occupies a valley — roughly eighty kiloters north of our mapped boundary, at the base of a mountain that the local fauna avoids entirely. The valley is approximately five kiloters long, two kiloters wide, and it’s *wrong*."
Raegal paused. He was not a man who used words like *wrong* casually. In forty years of frontier service, he had encountered predators, storms, avalanches, and the particular hostility of wilderness that didn’t want mortal visitors. He had never encountered *wrongness* — the environntal expression of a divine domain that was fundantally incompatible with the living systems that the Frostmarch’s ecology depended on.
"The valley’s stone is grey. Not naturally grey — grey the way old things are grey. Decay. The stone is decaying. Stone doesn’t decay — or shouldn’t. But this stone is crumbling, disintegrating at the molecular level, returning to the undifferentiated mineral dust that stone was before geological pressure compressed it into structure. The trees are grey. The soil is grey. The water in the streambed is grey. Everything in the valley is in a state of advanced deterioration."
"The Decay domain."
"The Decay influence. And a nature over stone — simultaneously. The combination is specific: Morglith doesn’t build with stone. He *unmakes* it. His authority over stone gives him control of the material. His decay influence gives him the intent. Together, the two produce an environnt where structural integrity — the fundantal property that makes stone *stone* — is attacked at the divine level."
"Can he apply this to the Ashwall?"
"Unknown. The valley’s effect was ambient — it affected everything within the domain’s radius, which we estimated at approximately five kiloters. Beyond the radius, the effect diminished rapidly. Whether Morglith can project the decay effect at distance — the way Deterra projects earth-shaping — is sothing we couldn’t determine."
"And the god itself?"
"We didn’t see Morglith directly. We saw the constructs. Not stone guardians like the dungeon — these were *decay* constructs. Animated bodies of crumbling stone that moved with the slow, grinding purpose of erosion given form. They were two to three ters tall, humanoid, and they attacked by touch. One of our fighters — Jessek — was grabbed by a construct’s hand. The hand’s contact produced the decay effect on a biological target. Jessek’s forearm aged thirty years in four seconds. The muscle atrophied, the bone density dropped, the skin lost elasticity. Four seconds of contact produced the equivalent of three decades of cellular deterioration."
"Is Jessek alive?"
"Alive. The healers have stabilized the arm, but they can’t reverse the aging. The Decay domain’s effect is not damage — it’s *ti*. You can’t heal ti."
The silence in the war room was the silence of career soldiers processing a threat they didn’t have a counter for. The militaries of the Sovereign Dominion were designed to fight armies — formations of soldiers with weapons, supported by divine blessings that enhanced physical combat. Morglith’s domain was not a physical combat capability. It was *entropy*. The god of Stone and Decay didn’t need to break the kingdom’s walls. He needed to *age* them.
***
"Strength assessnt," Gharrek demanded.
"A weak god — small by any asure of divine threat, consistent with Fenrath’s initial evaluation. Morglith’s effective reach is strong within his valley but attenuates rapidly beyond five kiloters. His construct force is estimated at approximately 3,000 units — small by military standards, insufficient for a conventional invasion, but sufficient for the diversionary role that Deterra’s hired him for."
"Three thousand constructs that kill by touch."
"Three thousand constructs that *age* by touch. The distinction matters — aging doesn’t kill imdiately. It weakens. A soldier touched by a decay construct loses decades of physical capability in seconds. The touch converts a young warrior into an old one — not dead, but combat-ineffective. An army that fights decay constructs doesn’t take casualties. It takes *retirees*."
Gharrek processed the grim humor without smiling. The assessnt was accurate and, in its accuracy, terrifying. Traditional casualty assessnt asured dead and wounded. Morglith’s domain would produce a third category: *aged*. Soldiers who survived contact with decay constructs but who were no longer physically capable of military service. The dical infrastructure wasn’t designed for this. The psychological impact — young soldiers aged to elderly in seconds — would be devastating.
"Can Fenrath counter it?"
"Fenrath’s cold can slow Morglith’s constructs — extre cold reduces the animation chanism’s efficiency, making the constructs slower and less coordinated. Fenrath’s nature also allows our forces to communicate through the indirect pack-sense link that works outside Howlist blessing range. But Fenrath cannot directly counter Morglith’s decay — cold and decay are not opposing forces. Cold preserves through temperature. Decay deteriorates through ti. They’re operating on different taphysical axes."
"So we contain."
"We contain. The Frostmarch garrison’s 15,000 troops, supported by Fenrath’s divine authority, can maintain a defensive periter that prevents Morglith’s 3,000 constructs from crossing the mapped boundary. The containnt is feasible because Morglith’s force is small and his domain’s range is limited. But containnt requires the garrison to remain at full strength — 15,000 troops that we cannot redeploy south."
The assessnt completed the northern intelligence picture. Morglith was a diversionary asset — paid by Deterra, operating independently, designed to pin 15,000 kingdom troops in the north while the real war happened at the Ashwall. The operation was cost-efficient from Deterra’s perspective: a single paynt to a minor god, in exchange for removing 15,000 troops — approximately five percent of the kingdom’s total force — from the southern theater.
The patrol’s return told the story before the patrol leader spoke. Four soldiers had left. Three returned. The missing man — Private Kellan Marsh, a Frostmarch native who had volunteered because he knew the terrain — had stepped on what appeared to be solid ground and found, instead, a patch of decay-softened earth that swallowed his leg to the knee. The decay had entered through the boot leather. By the ti his squadmates pulled him free, the flesh below the knee was grey and soft, the bone visible through tissue that dissolved like wet parchnt. Kellan had begged them to leave him. They hadn’t. He died during the carry-back, and the decay continued to consu his body for eleven minutes after his heart stopped beating. They burned what remained at the treeline because burying decay-contaminated remains risked spreading the corruption into the soil.
"Hold the north," Gharrek told his commanders. "Fenrath holds the divine boundary. The garrison holds the physical boundary. Nothing crosses south. And if the constructs co in force — make them co into the cold. The Frostmarch’s winter starts in forty days. Let the Decay god fight entropy with entropy."
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